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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912400">And Holding On, Our Dreams Might Be Okay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful'>InsertSthMeaningful</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, Erik Lehnsherr Defense Squad, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Everyone Needs A Hug, Kissing, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Star-crossed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:07:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Erik burgled the wrong window – and made a friend.<br/>Now, he is on his way to visit him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Secret Mutant Madness 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And Holding On, Our Dreams Might Be Okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/milosdinosaur/gifts">milosdinosaur</a>.</li>



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/milosdinosaur/pseuds/milosdinosaur">milosdinosaur</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2020">secret_mutant_madness_2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All my thanks to the amazing <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame">FlightInFlame</a> for the SPAG beta and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorMagenta">DoctorMagenta</a> for checking for plot holes 💙💜<br/>Title inspiration from Gerard Way's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bOE8a1w5K20">Pinkish</a>. I hope you enjoy this, dear prompter!</p><p><strong>Prompt</strong>: </p><p>Erik knows he is different, has known it all his life. He must keep his powers a secret. If they were discovered, he would be executed. He thinks he's alone, until he meets crown prince Charles Xavier.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moon stood high and full in the sky, and the night breeze whispered secretively in the leaves of the weeping willows lining the palace garden wall. Tucked away in the dark tangle of twigs, a nightingale warbled its lonely melody.</p><p>Erik took one last look at the nightguard who had turned to watch the moths beat themselves to death at his lantern, then scrambled through a narrow crack in the garden wall.</p><p>On the other side, he did not wait for anyone to spot him, but ducked behind a sweet-smelling cover of rose bushes, their blossoms closed but still diffusing their balmy fragrance. The grass beneath his hands was soft – softer than outside the palace walls, he thought. Then again, he had long since learned that here, everything was soft, while outside, everything was harsh.</p><p>Carefully, he lifted his head to peek out from his hiding place- and grinned triumphantly.</p><p>A solitary candle flickered in the last window of the East wing. Two stories off the ground, it wouldn’t have been easy to reach, had it not been for a bush of jasmine growing rank just beneath it. Even so, you had to be a pretty good climber to make it to the sill.</p><p>And a pretty good climber Erik was.</p><p>Keeping the noise of his hasty steps down, he slunk from shadow to shadow, hid behind a thicket of night-blooming phlox here and ducked under a bench there. Arranged as an ornamental garden for long afternoons of promenade and chatter, this terrain was not what he was used to. He was a boy of the streets, well-versed in the language of dark alleyways and the law of the gutter, but completely lost when it came to the finery of the upper class, let alone the royals which reigned over this country.</p><p>However, he knew a good opportunity when he saw it. The guard patrolling the gravel path by the palace wall had just vanished from sight behind a small pavilion, and Erik threw himself across the lawn and into the shadow of the jasmine bush beneath the illuminated window.</p><p>Heart hammering in his chest, he glanced from his cover of darkness to the nightguard. They kept on marching back towards the front of the East wing, seemingly unaware of his presence.</p><p>A sigh of relief escaped him, and he smothered it with the back of his hand. One day, he would not be as lucky. One day, someone would see him, would recognise what he was, and they would drag him in front of the court where he would end up on the gallows. But today was not this day.</p><p>When his frantic thoughts had at last quieted down into a semblance of calm, Erik raised his eyes to the wall of roughly hewn bricks towering over him. The faint glow of the candle shone through the twigs of the jasmine, lighting his way.</p><p>First, Erik got rid of his worn-down shoes and concealed them under a swathe of catswort. Then, quickly, he bent down to pluck a blossom of night-flowering evening stock from a nearby bed and slide it behind his ear before he gripped at the branches of the jasmine bush and started to climb.</p><p>The stars were almost drowned out by the pale moonshine, and the leaves and snow-white blossoms rustled around him in protest as Erik pulled himself up, higher and higher from the ground until he was certain that he would break his neck if he fell now. The nightingale’s song was his unceasing companion when he at last pulled himself up to perch on the windowsill, still shrouded from view by the jasmine’s shadow as he felt for the catch. It was an old mechanism – no royal had ever expected for a burglar to even get this far, so the locks on the window had never been replaced – cast from a kind of copper alloy.</p><p>One hand clasped around the wooden Star of David around his neck to anchor his mind, Erik laid his palm flat onto the lock and concentrated.</p><p>An owl hooted in the distance, its call dispersing in through the night like the heady scent of the blooming jasmine. Something clattered in the insides of the catch, rattling loose, and then the lock clicked open. With a sigh of relief, Erik opened the window a crack, just big enough for him to slip through – which was not much, considering that despite his eighteen years, he was still gangly and thin from malnutrition. This was why he was always used for the tighter parts of burglaries; quick and lithe as a snake, he could get in almost anywhere.</p><p>Now, he was getting into the royal palace. Quite a stretch from his usual field of expertise, but he knew for certain he had something worthwhile waiting for him on the inside.</p><p>The candle on the window ledge guttered and went out in the draft, and Erik carefully nudged it to the side so he could put his feet on the bench below and then on the floor, closing the window behind himself. Thick brocade curtains still separated him from the room to which the window belonged. Beyond their shielding darkness, he could sense an assortment of furniture, pen holders and other metallic baubles – and a heart, its beating sluggish with the lull of sleep.</p><p>Lips seized in a grin, Erik pulled the curtains aside with as little rustling as possible. A sliver of the clear moonlight slanted through the window, illuminating a piece of the bench and the bare floor in front of him, and as he soundlessly stepped through into the darkness beyond, his mind fuzzed over with excitement. This time, <em>this</em> <em>time</em>, he would succeed. He made out the iron bedframe standing on the far side of the room and took off towards it on his tiptoes.</p><p>However, he had barely set about doing so when something stirred in the dark and the bedcovers were folded back with a thunderous clap.</p><p>“Erik,” whisper-yelled a groggy voice, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Once again, the sleeper had woken before <em>Erik</em> could wake him.</p><p>“Shh. Keep it down.” The naked tiled floor cool under his soles, he padded up to the bedframe and kneeled on the incredibly soft mattress which was already dipping under the weight of another agitated body. “The candle – where is it?”</p><p>“Nightstand,” the voice replied, reduced to a whisper. “In the iron candle holder. The matches are- Wait a minute.”</p><p>Erik did not intend to “wait a minute”. Instead, he extended a hand for the nightstand, feeling for the iron shape which had been described to him – he had felt it before, but only recently was he getting comfortable picking it up without actually touching it.</p><p>The bed creaked as a body dragged over it. Nails scratched over the wood of the nightstand, searching and succeeding, before the voice beckoned, “Over here, Erik.”</p><p>Patting ahead to make sure he was not about to bump into the owner of the voice, Erik slid over on the mattress and brandished the candle holder. Through the impenetrable darkness surrounding him, he heard the scratch of a match being ignited, and then, a flame hissed to life and began licking away at the darkness.</p><p>Blue eyes searched and found Erik’s, and a boy barely any older than him shot him a brilliant smile.</p><p>“Charles,” Erik breathed ere he could stop himself, and the smile – impossibly – widened.</p><p>“Erik. You came.” Charles Xavier, crown prince of Westchester, blinked at him as though in disbelief, body swaying towards Erik’s. “I’m so gl-”</p><p>The match burned down, and Charles bit his lip to smother a shriek as the flame reached his fingers. Quickly, Erik leaned forward and extinguished the fire between his index and thumb.</p><p>They sat like this for a few heartbeats, plunged back into darkness with their hands entwined. Neither Erik nor Charles uttered a word.</p><p>Then, Charles’ chuckle floated over to Erik, and the prince let go of his hand to light another match.</p><p>“My, how clumsy of me,” he muttered, tangled auburn locks alight in the glow of the candle when its wick finally caught fire. “See, this is how you spot a spoilt prince from a capable commoner: The prince will forget that he is holding a burning match, captured by the beauty in front of him, while the commoner has the wit to save the prince’s poor fingers. How heroic.”</p><p>Even as he felt an overpowering flush blooming on his cheeks, Erik huffed dismissively. “You don’t mean what you say, your Highness.”</p><p>Disapproval written all over his face, Charles clicked his tongue. “Hmm. But what if I did?”</p><p>Ere Erik could answer, however – which he didn’t plan on anyway, since finding an apt reply through his flustered spluttering would have been far too impossible a feat – the prince was pulling his legs out from under the covers, his pyjama bottoms bunched up over his knees. In the flickering candlelight, Erik had no difficulty taking in his rumpled state – his hair mussed with sleep, the print of the pillow on his right cheek, dried stripes of drool running from the corner of his lips down his chin and-</p><p>“Ugh, Erik, <em>please</em>,” Charles groaned, dramatically slapping the back of his hand against his forehead, “stop it with the flattering description, will you?”</p><p>Erik felt his flush deepen. “I’m sorry. You said you wouldn’t look anymore.”</p><p>Charles’ face fell. “Right. Yes, no, it’s me who should be apologising. I won’t be reading your mind anymore, I promise.”</p><p>Erik nodded, a crestfallen feeling settling in his chest all of a sudden. It broke his heart, seeing Charles so devastated every time he told him to stay out of his head – but Erik wished to lust in privacy. Baring his thoughts to Charles would only destroy the friendship they had constructed oh-so carefully.</p><p>“If you could help me out of bed, please.” The incident already forgotten, Charles yawned and stretched his arms over his head, his spine cracking. “Unfortunately, the servants insist upon placing the chair on the opposite end of the room so I have to ring for assistance every single bloody time I need anything during the night.”</p><p>Without even so much as a glance over his shoulder, Erik raised his hand and called the wheeled chair forth by the alloy of its spokes. Undisguised fascination shimmered in Charles’ gaze as he watched him, and after he had gratefully accepted Erik’s helping grip and heaved himself into his means of transportation, he muttered, “Erik, you truly are the most extraordinary thing.”</p><p>Erik shrugged it off as another one of the prince’s antics. Yes, it was true that Charles was the first human who had not cried bloody murder when he saw Erik use his powers all those months ago, even though Erik had appeared seemingly out of nowhere in his bedroom, and in the middle of the night at that. He had been meant to burgle the Queen’s jewellery box and had landed in the crown prince’s chambers instead – Erik still thought Shaw had given him the wrong instructions to get rid of him once and for all, since Erik was almost grown-up and starting to display a head of his own. Only, he had found not death, but a new friend in the human who had surprised him. An ally.</p><p>And then, as time wore on and his secretive visits to Charles happened more and more often, a kindred spirit. It had been on a stormy winter night when Charles had accidentally answered one of Erik’s unspoken questions and, upon probing and pleading, had revealed himself to be a telepath – “gifted” as he called it, “cursed” as Erik did.</p><p>The crown prince himself! More than human, condemned to a life spent in fear and constant danger of being found out and executed. Suddenly, Erik’s life had been more complete than ever.</p><p>“Now,” Charles muttered, wheeling over to a chest of drawers very slowly so his chair didn’t creak, “I have prepared a feast. Well, a midnight snack rather, but I believe you understand what I mean.”</p><p>Erik nodded, trailing behind the other boy. He hardly knew how to behave in the prince’s chambers, among such luxury, such decadence. In comparison to the shimmering mahogany of the furniture or the polished curtain rods, he felt filthy and small and utterly out of place.</p><p>Of course, Charles could never know that. Erik’s pride was far too great to admit his intimidation, let alone to accept any charity from the prince’s part.</p><p>The topmost drawer clicked open, and Charles heaved a richly laden tray onto his lap. “Please, Erik, if you could clear the window seat from my mother’s horrible scatter cushions? They’re really quite uncomfortable. And don’t forget to keep-”</p><p>“- keep the curtains closed, lest a guard glimpse the candlelight,” Erik pre-empted Charles’ words mockingly. “Of course, your Highness.”</p><p>Charles’ grin followed him all across the room, branded into his mind’s eye as he did as he was told, helped the prince transfer onto the bench by the window and at last sat down himself, the tray between them. Erik deposited the candle holder at a safe distance on a chest of drawers before he looked up and met Charles’ ice-blue gaze. “Well?”</p><p>“Well what?” Charles leaned over and began unscrewing the top of various jars and bottles on the tray, unwrapping silver cutlery from a napkin so they wouldn’t have to eat with their fingers.</p><p>Erik inconspicuously laid a hand over his stomach to smother its growling. “You’re excited about something. What is it?”</p><p>“Oh. <em>Oh</em>.” Charles’ eyes flashed with mirth. “You know me better than I know myself, my dear friend. I do indeed have a surprise for you.” And those words said, he reached into a leather pouch on the tray and pulled a flask full of a shimmering crimson liquid from its depth. “Voilà!”</p><p>Erik frowned and took the bottle carefully. It was about as long as his hand, flattened and blown from clear, unblemished glass. “What is that?”</p><p>“Wine,” Charles proclaimed triumphantly. “The sweetest of its kind, fermented from grapes collected on the sun-bathed hillsides of Genosha – that’s where you’re from, aren’t you?”</p><p>Erik nodded. He did not remember much about his home or his language or who his parents had been, but he knew enough to know that the papers Shaw kept locked away from him bore the Genoshan crest.</p><p>“It’s a shame that it’s a battlefield nowadays. Trade with Genosha has always brought Westchester the most curious delicacies.” Two fine crystal chalices tinkled against each other as Charles took them by their stems and set them out on the tray. He accepted the flask from Erik and unscrewed it to pour a sip of the wine into each goblet. “I was lucky none of the servants discovered me when I syphoned some of this off. Now, Erik, let’s raise our glasses to our wonderful friendship.”</p><p>But Erik waved the offered calyx away. “I can’t. Shaw can smell it when people come back pissed and he always gives them a right beating for it.”</p><p>Charles scrunched up his nose at Erik’s street talk, insisting nonetheless that, “If you really prove to be such a lightweight, you can sleep off the worst of the drunkenness in my bed until dawn. I’ll wake us before the attendants run down my door. Come on, Erik, it’s just wine!" </p><p>Erik sighed, well-knowing that it wouldn’t take much more to sway him. “No, I can’t…”</p><p>“Please?” Charles reached out and cradled Erik’s hand before he could pull it away. “Erik, I never get the chance to drink for fun, let alone with my best friend. I’d be forever in your debt.”</p><p>The prince’s grasp around Erik’s fingers was warm and secure. Erik blinked. Waves of prickling heat travelled up and down his spine.</p><p>“Your… best friend.”</p><p>“My best friend, and more,” Charles confirmed, bringing Erik’s hand to his lips and pressing a dainty kiss on its back. “Come on now, decide. We don’t have all night.”</p><p>“I- Yes, okay, fine.” Fingers spasming, Erik pulled from Charles’ grip – maybe a bit too roughly, but getting himself in trouble now was the least he could afford – and took up one of the glasses. His heartbeat throbbed in his fingertips. “Cheers?”</p><p>“Cheers,” Charles replied, a cat-got-the-cream smile widening his lips. “To us.”</p><p>“To us,” Erik whispered, watching as Charles downed his measure of wine before he took a daring sip himself.</p><p>He had never drunk wine before – beer, yes, when the potable water grew sparse in the city and Shaw, head of the capital’s crime syndicate, did not want to risk his rag-tag band of pickpockets and burglars and robbers to fall ill with the maladies swarming in the wells, but it barely contained any measure of alcohol. Now, Erik felt his taste buds being hit with the full force of undiminished, well-aged liquor. He almost scowled, had to keep himself from spitting it all out again, but for Charles’ sake he persisted.</p><p>As they ate and talked and Charles kept refilling their glasses with dainty sips, Erik felt the wine grow on him. It went to his head fast, and there was a certain heat invading his cheeks, but then again being around Charles didn’t ever feel much different either.</p><p>“As soon as I take the throne,” Charles proclaimed between two bites of roasted goose, “the persecution and oppression of the gifted will cease, I tell you, and I will bring peace to all the kingdoms - your homeland included. They cannot crown a Gifted to be King and then think he will not act in favour of his people.”</p><p>Erik shook his head. “I hate to say it, your Highness, but you are a delusionist. I know the harsh reality of the world’s workings – as soon as the people find out <em>what </em>they have placed on their throne, they will tear you down.” Reaching over his criss-crossed legs, he picked up a jar of a thick, lukewarm liquid and sniffed it. “What is this?”</p><p>“Oh, ye of little faith. We are more numerous than you think, Erik.” Charles dunked a spoon into the broth, blowing on it before he brought it to Erik’s lips. “It’s venison stew. Try it, love – there’s neither pork nor cream or eggs in it.”</p><p>Heart palpitating, Erik leaned forward and let Charles push the head of the spoon past his lips. He closed them around the silver, eyelashes fluttering shut with the dual sensation of the rich, salty stew on his tongue and his metal sense picking up the warmth of his own mouth. Heat kindled in his belly, fanned by Charles’ deep, quiet laugh permeating his haze of enjoyment.</p><p>“Mm,” Erik hummed, hand coming up to take the spoon from Charles’ fingers and plunge it into the jar again. “This is good.”</p><p>Charles’ smile was a beacon in the candlelight’s flickering gloom. “I thought you would like it, my dear.”</p><p>They finished up with minuscule apple tarts and pomegranate jelly, washing it down with the last sips of Charles’ pilfered Genoshan sweet wine. Then, Charles had Erik put the tray on the floor and slide over on the bench so the prince could wind an arm around his waist and pull him close.</p><p>This was one of the reasons for which Erik always washed the single shirt he owned in the well the morning before he visited the crown prince – Charles was a tactile person, never hesitating to touch where and when he could, and though Erik was tidy and neat, not even he could avoid the reek of the streets clinging to his clothes. One day, he would have to think about a new shirt, one which didn’t grow more and more threadbare every time he washed it.</p><p>But not today. Today, Charles whispered, “Please.” His tired head rested on Erik’s shoulder and one hand over Erik’s heart. “Please, show me.”</p><p>And Erik did as he was told. He reached for the cutlery and the lid of the flask and whatever metal he could get a hold of and made them dance.</p><p>Charles’ breathy laugh of joy brushed against Erik’s collarbones. The hem of his nightgown was tickling Erik’s neck, and his hand curled, tightened over Erik’s chest as he murmured, “Amazing, as always. Erik, you are something else.”</p><p>Erik tried not to preen – and failed. It was always the same with Charles, who lavished his attention and praise so freely, so carelessly onto Erik. Surely, he didn’t treat others any different, but it never failed to make Erik feel special. To make him feel <em>wanted</em>.</p><p>With a snap of his fingers, he had the metal twisting in mid-air into the most peculiar shapes and forms. “Incredible,” Charles whispered, and fired up by this compliment, Erik melded the iron and copper and silver into an armada of butterflies which scattered around the room, iridescent in the candlelight.</p><p>“Gorgeous,” Charles said, voice suddenly all sober and serious.</p><p>When Erik glanced down at him, he saw that Charles was no longer looking at the flurry of butterflies. The weight of his head on Erik’s shoulder had disappeared, and his eyes, in all their cool blue glory, were watching Erik’s face with an intensity as though they wished to devour him.</p><p>Erik shuddered, and all things metal were restored to their proper shapes and forms. The prince’s arm around his waist was suddenly searing, a heavy weight anchoring him in place.</p><p>A lonely eyelash had detached itself and was now trailing on Charles’ cheekbone reddened by the sweet wine. Ere he could stop himself, Erik reached out and gently picked it up on his fingertip.</p><p>Charles smiled. “Blow it away and make a wish.”</p><p>Erik glanced down at him, smirking as he slowly regained control over his thoughts. “Why? Are spells for luck especially effective with a prince’s eyelash?”</p><p>Shaking his head with fond exasperation, Charles took Erik’s hand in his, the charm forgotten. “Oh, Erik. When will you finally see that I am not so different from you? That we are, in fact, very much alike – equals, even?”</p><p>“We share a curse,” Erik whispered, throat clogging up out of nowhere, “but Charles, we could never be… <em>more</em>.”</p><p>Charles’ smile turned grim. “And I’m telling you that we can.” And without further ado, he cupped Erik’s jaw and drew him down for their lips to meet.</p><p>Erik moaned into the kiss, instantly flushing from head to toe. Almost on their own accord, his hands came up to grip Charles’ shoulders, squeezing the bone and firm muscle as Charles drew him closer, impossibly close, as though he wanted to fold his body into Erik’s. His lips, his tongue tasted of the sweet, sweet Genoshan wine, amplifying Erik’s drunkenness a hundredfold.</p><p>Erik pressed, fell, plunged into Charles’ embrace, not wanting it to end, not now, not ever. Their noses brushed, Charles' hair was tickling his chin, but those were but fleeting sensations in comparison to Charles’ lips on his.</p><p>A small eternity passed before Charles turned his head away and buried his nose in the crook of Erik’s collarbones instead, peppering kisses over their delicate arch. Erik let him, sighing against the touches which were light as butterflies.</p><p>He didn’t even mind when Charles spoke, in his head, <em>You taste so good. I always wondered whether you would, and you do.</em> One of his hands came to press into the small of Erik’s back, and the other folded him back minutely for better access to his neck, the thin sliver of skin bared under the hem of his shirt. Erik just kept holding on to Charles’ shoulders, lost in the warmth of his lips.</p><p>Only when Charles’ ministrations ceased did he slowly come to, blinking into the flickering shadows shrouding the room. A sudden burst of cool ran down his spine, and he shuddered.</p><p>“Oh dear.” Charles blinked up at him, lips swollen and eyes sheepish. “I- I’m sorry. Should I not have…?”</p><p>“Yes- no.” Erik shook his head, though it did nothing to clear it. He bent down, lips searching Charles’-</p><p>A hand flattened against his sternum and held him back.</p><p>“Oh my, you’re drunk. You really are,” Charles murmured, gaze flicking here and there, taking in Erik’s flushed cheeks, his ruffled hair.</p><p>“I’m not,” Erik insisted weakly, well-knowing that it was a lost cause. Charles was already shaking his head, glancing at the tray on the floor.</p><p>“Well, I’ll hide this in the morning,” he murmured, “and you are coming into bed with me.” Erik giggled, and Charles shot him a dirty look. “Not like that, no.”</p><p>Erik found he wasn’t even disappointed – in fact, he was rather more tired than anything else. Without protesting, he helped Charles transfer to his chair, then followed him over to the bed.</p><p>“But my feet,” he whispered when Charles was comfortably installed under the covers and had them folded back for him. “They’re dirty.”</p><p>“Do I look like I care?” hissed the prince, eyes blazing. “And put the candle out before you join me.”</p><p>Erik sighed and did as he was told. “Yes, your Highness.” Then, he climbed into bed.</p><p>Charles’ body dented the soft mattress, enough for Erik to be unable to lie still and slack without slipping towards him. With tension laced all through his body, he stared into the darkness above.</p><p>“Well, what is it?” came Charles’ voice to his left. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”</p><p>Erik shook his head. When he realised that Charles could not possibly see him, he said, “No, just… do you want to?”</p><p>“Very much. Please.”</p><p>Erik didn’t have to be told twice. Patting ahead of himself until his hand closed around Charles’ upper arm, he rolled over, then slotted himself neatly against the prince’s body. Charles’ fingers tangled in his shirt sleeves, and his lips came to buss against Erik’s chin.</p><p>“You know,” he whispered, “I might be a little drunk myself.”</p><p>Erik snorted, and it made him gather enough courage to dart down and brush his lips against Charles’. “Didn’t you want to get some shut-eye, your Highness?”</p><p>“Hmm.” A sudden wave of drowsiness emanated from Charles as he pulled Erik’s head down onto the pillow. “Sleep, you oaf.”</p><p>Sniggering despite himself, Erik stared into the darkness, imagining the gentle slope of Charles’ lips and the icy blue of eyes. “Your wish is my command, your Highness.”</p><p>But Charles wouldn’t answer anymore. His breaths had deepened, quiet bursts of sound in the silence of the room – and Erik felt his heart grow thrice its size.</p><p>Maybe it was true. Maybe they were not as alone as he’d always thought.</p><p>He fell asleep with a smile on his lips and Charles’ fingers laced through his own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos and comments make my day :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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